


Split Personality

by fincherly, susies_fandom_wonders



Series: Requested Fics [21]
Category: Layton Kyouju Series | Professor Layton Series
Genre: Gen, inspired by fincherly!
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-26
Updated: 2017-11-26
Packaged: 2019-02-07 08:26:49
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 743
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12837192
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fincherly/pseuds/fincherly, https://archiveofourown.org/users/susies_fandom_wonders/pseuds/susies_fandom_wonders
Summary: After solving the Azran puzzle, things are way different as Desmond finds himself looking into a reflection.





	Split Personality

**Author's Note:**

> From my Tumblr blog, slenderbrine22.tumblr.com . Inspired by @fincherly 's 'Extremes' , you can find it by clicking on her profile above!

Desmond looked over at Descole with wary eyes.

This was not what he expected to happen after he solved that Azran puzzle. He had been taken back to the Bostonius by… himself (what a strange thing to have to say, he mused), and he was placed into his room as Descole asked Raymond to prepare a room for him.

Desmond would have thought his father would have been a bit more surprised --

The man blinked. He had only referred to Raymond as his father only one other time, and that had been an accident, as well.

The masked man nudged the door open, his expression cold, unmoving, as he placed Desmond onto his bed. They both stared for a moment, and Desmond watched as Descole’s jaw worked, trying to think of something to say. To be honest, he didn’t really know what to say, either. Finally, the masked man spoke.

“You are much more mellow than I expected.” Descole’s voice was sharp, carrying with it an air of condescendence. Desmond frowned.

“I didn’t think I made people feel like they’re stupid as you.” The masked man gave a humorless smirk.

“You made me this way.”

“I know I did, I just… didn’t think I was this….”

“Cold? Sarcastic?” Descole removed his mask, the red eyes piercing into Desmond with mirth.  Desmond never noticed how much those eyes looked like Bronev’s. He felt a wave of nausea wash over him at the thought. His biological father had killed his wife and daughter, his flesh and blood.

Descole noticed the expression that washed over Desmond’s face, the way he turned pale. He turned and grabbed the trashcan by their desk, holding it under Desmond’s mouth as he lunged forward, retching into the bin. Tears were pouring down Desmond’s face as he retched once, twice, then leaned back, removing his glasses as he rubbed his eyes. Descole knew what he was thinking about, about the damned eyes they had inherited from their father. About Olivia and Violet, how his chest gave a numb throb of pain as he thought about them.

“Don’t think about it,” he muttered. “Thinking about it makes it worse.” Desmond let out a low sob, his body shaking as he stared someplace far away. Descole frowned before sitting next the broken man, setting the trashcan on the ground. He didn’t know how to comfort him, and he thought for a moment before resting a heavy hand on the crying man’s shoulder.

“It will be alright, Desmond.” He felt himself repeating the words that he had heard so often from Raymond. “You are here, not there. You are safe.” Desmond looked over at the man, his eyebrows crunched together in confusion. Descole continued. “You are unable to change what happened. It is all in the past now.”

“I cannot change what happened,” Desmond muttered, his eyes misty and glazed.  
“That’s right. Just breathe.” Descole could see the man starting to relax from his panicked state. “Focus on my voice, and focus on your breathing. Don’t think about anything else.” Desmond took a deep breath, repeating Descole’s words in a such a soft voice he might as well have mouthed the words, but the man could understand all the same.

Raymond entered the room, looking at Descole before his eyes fell on Desmond, his eyes still wide and watery as he tried to relax. The butler strode into the room, placing a careful hand onto the panicking man’s shoulder.

“Whatever you are thinking about, Desmond, it will be okay. It will be okay.” Descole stood, Raymond was here, Raymond would be able to help better than he could. He left, and went to the guest room. He sat on the bed, giving a large sigh as he looked down at his hands.

A few moments passed where all Descole could hear was the soft, careful mutterings of Raymond’s voice and Desmond’s quiet, broken voice through the walls. Then it went quiet. The door to the guest room opened quietly, and the butler peeked his head around the corner.

“You managed to almost calm him down before I interfered. So I think I’m speaking for both me and Master Sycamore when I say: thank you.” Descole looked over.

“There’s no need to thank me,” he said with a dismissive tone. “It’s what I remembered you doing when we weren’t doing very well.” The butler gave a small smile.

“I’m glad I could be of service.”


End file.
